Beautiful is for all.
Past the trees he went and stopped he near a river. The river was clear and rushed past, carrying glittering, shiny stones ranging from ocean blue and purple to orange and bloody red. His eyes ignored the stones as he hopped across the river and kept running. The storm was building now, obstacles like steep, mossy hills keeping him back. Yet, he climbed them and found his way, shivering, through the cold.
Finally, he stopped running. The pull tore in half and took off into two separate roads beyond the trees. The man panted, chest rising then falling, as he watched the others take one path and ignore the other. The first road’s path was littered with a road of light but he saw the Devil waiting to the right, to the left, to the front, and to the back. Then, the other road had no clear path, and it turned with darkness with no apparent end to it. No one walked that path and the pull was weaker there.
With a deep breath and a wide jump, the man sprinted to the road not taken, to venture and learn, and to endure all the demons, frosty or hellish, found there – to see the light that might be at the end.
O, Father, thou art beauteous in heart
As for without thy fervor in my life,
Surely would I have perished in the dust
Of my birth, begot of death, lack of breath,
And devil claws assaulting my whole bod.
But Father, o Father, when thou callst me
To be near thee in death when death awaits
With teeming gleams of glaring grins agrown.
And Father, o Father, how I love thee
But loathed thy weak call of my name near death!
If thou shouldst die alone for me to live,
Be it so; perish in the dark sans me
So I may live in guilty pleasure’s pain
But live nonetheless, able to survive.